


Holding Your Holy Water

by Seventysixtyniner



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Violence, takes place after full gear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 08:56:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21389497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seventysixtyniner/pseuds/Seventysixtyniner
Summary: “You’re scared, Omega. Don’t act like you’re not,” Moxley growls, circling Kenny like a lion stalks a limping gazelle.“I’m not, I’m not,” Kenny answers, though to which accusation he’s not sure.Moxley’s strong, calloused hand closes hard around his jaw and pushes back, forcing Kenny to look at the dark, empty stadium. There should be people here. Matt and Nick should be here. Kota should—
Relationships: Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Kenny Omega, Matt Jackson/Nick Jackson/Kenny Omega
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	Holding Your Holy Water

“You’re scared, Omega. Don’t act like you’re not,” Moxley growls, circling Kenny like a lion stalks a limping gazelle.

“I’m not, I’m not,” Kenny answers, though he's not sure which accusation he's denying. 

Moxley’s strong, calloused hand closes hard around his jaw and pushes back, forcing Kenny to look at the dark, empty stadium. There should be people here. Matt and Nick should be here. Kota should—

“I’m not gonna take responsibility for you,” Moxley barks at him, “I’m gonna hurt you, and you’re gonna hate it.”

Kenny swallows hard at Moxley’s words and lets his eyes fall shut. Moxley continues to shout, his voice gruff. Drops of spit land on Kenny’s face. 

“The difference between you and me, Kenny, is that I’m not a fucking tourist when it comes to violence. I was born in it.” 

Kenny drinks up his words as his hands come up to cling to Moxley’s arm.

Moxley, in turn, scoffs and throws Kenny down onto the canvas. The Canadian falls with an echoing crash.

Kenny moans and curls onto his side, unable to find control of his heavy, aching limbs. 

Moxley crouches over him, and looks down as though he were grieving. 

“You don’t want this, Kenny.” 

“I want it, Jon, I want it.” 

With a click of his tongue, Moxley stands up and ducks through the ropes, returning a second later with Kenny’s little “gift” to him. 

The barbed wire seems sharper, somehow. More menacing. It catches some of the stage lights and burns Kenny’s eyes. The bat, too, seems bigger than it did when Kenny had wrapped the barbed wire around it.

“Stand up.” Moxley orders him, and Kenny finds himself feeling like he’s trying to keep his balance on a surfboard, but the ring is stationary under his feet. 

His broom is in his hands, too heavy to lift. 

“Come on, Kenny. Hit me.”

Kenny nods, unable to keep his eyes open or his head up for more than a second. 

“ _ Come on! _ ” Moxley shouts, making Kenny flinch. 

Before Kenny can answer or move at all, Moxley winds up the bat in his hands and swings for Kenny’s side like he’s trying to cut down a tree. The barbs pierce Kenny’s skin and tear chunks of flesh away, making Kenny howl as he collapses to the canvas. 

The lacerations on his side burn as hot, crimson blood begins to leak from them. 

“You couldn’t do it, see that?!” Moxley yells, raising the bat over his head and swinging it down onto Kenny’s back, ripping his flesh once more. 

Kenny pushes himself up onto his knees and elbows. His forehead’s pressed to the canvas as he tries to catch his breath. 

“ _ Kenny Omega _ , the best goddamn wrestler in the world,” Moxley drawls, the words dripping off his lips like wine. 

Kenny flinches as he hears the baseball bat hit the floor with a weighted thud a few yards away. His heart freezes as he feels Moxley step closer to him, then rear one leg back to deliver a hard, swift kick to Kenny’s side. A wheezing breath comes out of him as he feels a rib crack. 

Kenny rolls onto his back and throws his arms over his face as his chest continues to heave. 

Moxley plants a knee and all his weight on Kenny’s stomach, forcing air out of Kenny’s lungs and making him retch. 

As Moxley reaches for the waistline of Kenny’s tights, the Canadian feels the blood in his face begin to prickle. 

“You don’t want this, Kenny,” Moxley warns him, and all Kenny does is lift his legs up to help Moxley tear his tights off completely. 

Moxley settles himself between Kenny’s muscular, quivering thighs and undoes his fly. 

“This is gonna hurt, Kenny,” Moxley says as he presses the tip of his cock to Kenny’s entrance. 

“I know, I know,” Kenny whispers, his hands reaching up to Moxley’s face, pleading for something to hold, “I want it to.” 

Moxley leans forward and allows Kenny to cling to his shoulders as he forces himself inside. It burns and aches and tears him apart from the inside, and Kenny can’t help the screams ripping out of him as Moxley continues to fuck him hard and deep. 

“ _ Fuck,  _ Kenny... Kenny, Kenny? Kenny?” 

Matt’s kneeling over him now, and the hard, unforgiving canvas underneath him is replaced with a warm bed. 

“Hey, you okay? You scared us half to death,” Matt whispered, his eyebrows knit together with worry. Nick was sitting on the other side, looking down on Kenny, unmoving. 

Matt’s hair was loose over his shoulders, swinging gently above Kenny’s face. Kenny knew how soft it would be to touch. 

Matt’s hands were soft, too, as they came up to gingerly hold Kenny’s cheek. Matt’s hands were softer than Nick’s. 

“What day is it?” Kenny grumbled, trying to suppress the panic in his chest. 

“It’s Sunday,” Nick answered, not taking his eyes off of the Cleaner; Nick watched him like he worried Kenny would strike at anytime, like he was a wild animal they had to tame. Kenny tried not to cry. 

Instead, he sat up and buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, I—“ he choked on his words as his chest began to heave like it did moments ago, when Moxley was… 

But that wasn’t real. It was just a dream, but at the same time that made it more real than anything Kenny had ever felt. It felt more real than that night in Baltimore, along with every scar it left on his body.

Matt’s arms wrapped around him tenderly, as the older Jackson brother pulled Kenny against his chest. Matt’s skin was so warm and familiar, Kenny couldn’t help but let out the shaky breath he was holding in his throat and relax against him. 

“You’re never fighting Moxley again,” Nick said, and Kenny couldn’t tell if it was an order or a plea. Quieter, just for Matt to hear, Nick muttered, “We can’t share a bed with him forever. What are we going to do about this?” 

Matt seemed too afraid to comment on the issue. He looked over at his brother with an expression too heartbroken to be angry, and only held Kenny close as the Cleaner continued to tremble on their hotel bed, blinking back the tears threatening to spill in his eyes. 

“Kenny, I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

**Author's Note:**

> this was a lot to write. I think I just needed a catharsis after full gear.


End file.
